


into your heart i'll beat again

by Svennie



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 14:52:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1473823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Svennie/pseuds/Svennie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's an absolute brat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	into your heart i'll beat again

**Author's Note:**

> This is a cleaned up and extended (sort of) version of [this](http://wereusagi.co.vu/post/82795656079), which I wrote on a whim. I'm sorry in advance for the experimental writing style, all the parentheses, and the over-the-top, uh, bird similes.
> 
> Title taken from "Crash Into Me" by Dave Matthews Band.
> 
> Utmost thanks to the anonymous user who sent me words of encouragement over Tumblr late last night, while I was cleaning this up. Thank you to K. and M. as well.

He's an absolute brat.

But you've got this feeling growing inside your heart—fondness, maybe; attachment, most definitely. It shines bright and leaves a pang in your chest when you see his eyes at their dullest, when that vibrant and glowing and almost-angry green turns into the color of swamp water on a cloudy day, right there as you both stand in that room, his fists bloody and trembling and aching to connect to your skin and break your bones.

(In the beginning you think that this is it, this is the brightest and most painful it can get. But oh, how wrong you are. How _absolutely wrong_ you are.

Here's a spoiler alert for you: it becomes brighter with each day that passes. But that's fine, because you'll have forever to nurture that feeling and keep it in your chest. You just don't know it now, but you'll know it soon enough in the future.)

When you finally enter his mind, you think you're lost. You wonder about the man who had stood in front of you with his demands for a match, and then a rematch—with blunt words that felt like rocks being thrown at you and a brutal honesty that was refreshing but at times also felt like knives cutting into your skin. You wonder about the intensity you had felt burning and vibrating beneath his skin, but what you find inside the dark recesses of his mind are dolls. Dolls, and the growing and uneasy sense of disconnect and apathy. Of desire and the need to give up.

And there he is. There he is, chained.

All at once it makes sense to you. The lack of smoothness in the way he carries himself, like a rough diamond; the complete disregard for social cues and conventions; and the way he had felt like a stone statue when you had held him against your chest as you told him about that nice world you wanted—and still want—for him to experience. (But when he had finally relaxed he felt far too fragile for you, like fresh snow and broken bones and a bird just learning to fly.)

So you do what you can. You reach out for him, seek out his hand and break his chains and push that emotional pain and all that hurt away. You bring him back from the depths of the dark well he had drowned himself in as a young kid who only yearned for love; you touch his skin and to him it feels like fire, like the touch of a brand. It's back, you think. It's back—

(But that's wrong. “Back” implies he had had it to lose but he never had it and no.  _No_. You're not going down that path again.)

—and so this time you carry him and his burdens and you protect him with your entire being because he deserves so much. So, so, _so much_. Everything crumbles around the both of you but that's okay. That's more than okay.

You've healed his mind and now it's time for him to mend his bones, and broken bones are always a path to stronger ones. (You should know, really. Remember _those_ days?) He heals, and as he does you visit him. He's vulnerable like this, but there's a certain light and sentiment to his eyes that weren't quite there before, a warmth that you notice and wish to be directed at you always.

That's when you realize you're in too deep.

One day you make love, and it's a memory you forever burn into your mind and your soul—the way he kisses you, the way he holds you and the way you hold him. There's that intensity again, still vibrating underneath his skin, and it amazes you to feel it this way. Everything feels so raw.

You play Rhyme.

He disappears.

Deep in your mind you know that this would happen one day. He's young, and it's only recently that he's begun to feel sensation. You treat it like your parting gift to him, like some kind of closure that you never knew you would need. You had held on to the hope that maybe he's the kind of bird that returns to the nest, the bird who learns how to fly and soars the sky and still comes home to that one tree they had taken a leap from.

But he's not. Or so you had mistakenly thought.

Three months—twelve weeks, ninety days, over two thousand hours—later and he opens that door, strolls in with the same confidence as he had back then, that first time he had kissed you, when he had kissed you like it meant nothing to him. (For the recond, his second kiss had been the same. But the third? The third had been _different_.) He's wearing a suit now, all sophisticated swagger in his movement and words, and still you think to yourself, what an absolute brat.

Then he smiles—and  _oh_ does his smile makes your knees weak—and carries you like the way you had carried him when Oval Tower had crumbled like a kid's sandcastle underneath crashing and unforgiving waves, that time when he had been most vulnerable and in absolute pain. You're in his arms again.

Your heart sings.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> I have a Tumblr over [here](http://wereusagi.co.vu).


End file.
